


How It Works

by zeke_pliskin



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Writing Warmup, friend prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 12:36:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7892554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeke_pliskin/pseuds/zeke_pliskin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>a quick prompt from 141-point-12.tumblr.com</p>
    </blockquote>





	How It Works

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelonebamf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelonebamf/gifts).



> a quick prompt from 141-point-12.tumblr.com

“Dave. Everything you own is ruined. Please. Humor me and try this on.”

 

The sound of “Dave” from Dr. Emmerich’s mouth was strange...for so long, they'd been Snake and Otacon...but now they were on the run and public spaces required public names. So, now they were Hal and Dave.

 

And this was a Goodwill.

 

Otacon--Hal--had his slender arm outstretched, light freckles peppered along the beginnings of muscle tone, forming from their many impromptu trainings. Dave could have admired his stubbornness, and the annoyed expression on the long and stubbly face; but the bright fluorescents and stale smell were beginning to give him a headache.

 

He  _ hated _ buying clothes, anyway.

 

Still, he snatched the hangers from Hal and ventured into the “dressing room,” to try on the clothes that had been selected for him. The baseball shirts were unflattering, but they fit...though Dave did favor the mechanic shirt with the embroidered “Hank” tag.

 

“I'm just gonna be Hank,” he shrugged, stepping out the door and shoving hands in the pockets of his faded jeans. “Forever. Solid Snake is dead.”

 

The look of panic on Hal's face was entirely worth the risky utterance, a rare smile and laugh cracking Dave's handsome features. A haggard single mother smiled affectionately in their direction, and for a moment, he wondered if his own mother would have smiled at him that way upon seeing him joke with Hal.

 

Both smiles faded.

 

“I'm glad you like... _ Hank,”  _ Hal spluttered, pushing Dave back into the small linoleum and plywood closet. “Change back and let me try some stuff on.”

 

Dave was happy to concede, leaving Mother Hen Hal with a bundle of clothes and a couple of books. Meanwhile, Dave wandered the aisles and nodded at a few old ladies, biding his time while his companion decided on an outfit or two.

 

Well. Maybe he'd pick up a present for Otac--Hal.

 

Yeah. Present for Hal.

 

~~

 

Back in the beat-up hatchback, Hal rifled through the clothing to fish out a book he'd purchased, rattling happily on about it and how hard it usually was to find. This Tales of Whatever book lit the rail-thin doctor's face up so brightly that Dave nearly lost the moxie to give him the present  _ he'd  _ found.

 

A look of realization dawned on Emmerich's face and he glanced away from Dave, in a blatantly embarrassed gesture. 

 

“I ramble,” he mumbled quietly.

 

Dave softened a bit at this very personal display, and decided to go ahead and pass on the gift he'd found. He twisted to reach the bag he'd snuck into the backseat, then handed it to Hal.

 

“Was gonna save this for the safehouse, but...well, may as well take advantage of your good mood.”

 

“Snake, you didn't have to--”

 

“Aaahhh,” Dave grumbled, shaking his head, “Just open it?”

 

Otacon’s expression was puzzled, but a grin still cracked his scraggly jaw as he dove into the plastic shopping bag. The gift within was an old radio, older than most other models on the thrift store shelf, and Hal seemed to regard the item with awe and...pain?

 

“Where did you find this?”

 

His voice was trembling. Not good, Dave.

 

“Just. If you don't like it, I'll just give it--”

 

“This is my dad's.”

 

Otacon had mentioned his father exactly one other time, and it was not in a positive context. Whatever happened between them, wherever the senior Emmerich was, this radio was sure to spark a feud that Dave hadn't ever intended.

 

“Your father's?”

 

“Well, not this exact one,” Hal sniffled, turning the pale beige machine in his spidery hands. “But this model. He always said he'd fix it, show me how it works...but...heh, he never did. He was always...so busy….”

 

The already small voice became even smaller, but more from introspection than anything. Dave recognized this headspace from his time with Frank, when quiet voices became rumbling sadness. 

 

“Well, that's awful funny because I thought…,” Dave began.

 

“Yeah?”

  
“Well, I've always like radios. And. I was hoping you could show me...how it works.”


End file.
